


After the Apocalypse-That-Never-Was

by megthemewlingquim



Series: What Happened After the Apocalypse-That-Never-Was [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Eventual Romance, Fluff, Multi, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:24:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megthemewlingquim/pseuds/megthemewlingquim
Summary: An angel and a demon meet you in the angel's bookshop. You have nowhere to stay, because of plot convenience, and they take you in.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I'm narrating as God here, because I absolutely adore the narration on the show.

Precisely ten minutes after their lunch at the Ritz on the Beginning of the Rest of their Lives, the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley are walking home, and absolutely nothing out of the ordinary so far has happened on their way. 'Home' is Aziraphale's bookshop. Crowley has just starting the process of moving in that morning, and it’s going smoothly.

He has moved in simply because he was lonely. He had his houseplants, sure, but after the whole Apocalypse-That-Never-Really-Happened, he was beginning to think that just putting the fear of God into them wasn’t very fun. It was actually incredibly nauseating, but he’d never admit it. 

Aziraphale, he assumes, had had something to do with that. He doesn’t like the thought.

On their way home, the conversation between the two of them is currently going something like this:

“I should’ve asked this earlier, Azi, but do you have an extra room?” Crowley asks. “I don’t want to seem conceited, but I may need an actual room to put the plants and stuff in.”

“I didn’t,” says Aziraphale, “but something tells me that I do now.” He smiles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And you didn’t seem conceited, Crowley, it was just a concern of someone that’s just moved into another’s house.” He walks and stands straight, with his hands cupped at his waistline, almost like he’s part of a choir. He was, back in the old days of Heaven, but those days are long gone. 

Crowley, on the other hand, struts as if all of his cares were suddenly thrown off of his shoulders. 

They don’t have choirs in Hell. Don’t imagine it -- it’s a gruesome thing to think of.

Aziraphale suddenly stiffens and stops walking.

“What is it?” Crowley asks.

“Someone is inside the bookshop,” says Aziraphale.

“Yeah?” says Crowley. His tone suggests that he’s confused as to why Aziraphale is sounding so startled.

“I’m not there,” says Aziraphale. “I must have forgotten to lock the door.”

“You must be joking,” mutters Crowley. “It’s your bookshop, you own it. How could you ever forget to lock the bloody door?”

He snaps his fingers, and the two of them are immediately in front of the bookshop.

“Oh,” says Aziraphale. “Thank you.”

He opens the door and lets Crowley step through first. When they have both stepped through, he lets go of the door, and the bell dings as it shuts. 

“Hello,” says Aziraphale. 

And here we introduce a new character: you. I suppose you think I’ll describe what you look like and what you’re currently wearing, but obviously, that’ll take up a bizarre amount of pages and it’ll bore all of you, so I won’t do that. You know what you look like and what you’re wearing. Fill in the blanks, please.

You look up from a book you had picked up. Pick your favorite book. Mine would be either The Bible or a little book called The Ocean At the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman. Good reads.

“Oh, hello,” you say, surprised at the sudden appearance of two extremely different looking people. “Who are you?”

“We live here,” says the man in black. “I’m Crowley, and this is Aziraphale. He owns this place.”

“Oh,” you say understandably. “Cool.”

“What’s your name?” the one in white, Aziraphale, says.

Here you insert your name while reading. We’ll shorten it to (Y/N). 

“(Y/N),” you say. You set your book down. 

“Nice to meet you,” says Aziraphale. There’s a pause. “Have you read it?” he asks, his tone light and cheerful. Crowley rolls his eyes. 

“Oh. Yes, I have,” you say with a smile. “Have you?”

“Yes,” says Aziraphale, “it’s wonderful. Would you like some tea?” Without really waiting for a reply, he strolls off to -- the kitchen, you assume. Crowley’s gaze follows him as he goes, and he looks baffled more than anything else. 

He looks back at you. “He’s normally like that,” he says. “But I can’t put my finger on why today.”


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale have a little chat on whether to take you in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These characters are so comforting for me. Does anyone else feel that way?

Aziraphale comes into the room much quicker than you expect, holding a cup of tea in a white cup. It's steaming.

"Here you go, love," he says cheerily, handing it to you.

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, his eyebrows furrowed. And, you can't see his eyes, but you can tell they're narrowed.

You take it. "Thank you."

"You know," Aziraphale says, "it's getting... late out there. Do you feel okay with... staying here tonight with us?"

You blink. "Wait. Ah, really?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Crowley interjects. "Ah, Angel? Could we talk? Please?"

Angel? you think. Maybe it's a nickname for him. 

Aziraphale blinks at him, as if the words don't process in his brain. Then he nods. "Yes, of course," he says. He turns to you. "Excuse us. Please don't go anywhere."

"Yeah, go right ahead," you say, confused but not going to show it.

They turn away and walk into another room.

This is what you don't see or hear. I'll give you the details.

"What is going on? You're inviting this newcomer in a second after you--"

"Crowley, you don't understand. I've seen their soul.They've been through... a lot of bad stuff. Their parents... aren't good ones. Because of who... who [Y/N] is."

Aziraphale's voice quiets at the last sentence. He exhales, sounding frustrated. 

"Not that I wanted to see it, but I just have a way of knowing things about people's souls. Like how I could sense love at the old hospital. Their soul was crushed and heartbroken. I could tell instantly. I didn't show it outwardly, but I feel so sorry for them. 

"They have nowhere to stay. Their parents just kicked them out. I feel as if I should take them in. Don't you agree?"

Crowley sighs, knowing more now. "Yeah, angel, I agree," he says softly. "It reminds me of... well, me. I questioned higher authorities and fully embraced myself, and look where the Heaven that got me."

"It got you here." Aziraphale smiles. "With me. You don't regret that, do you?"

"No. I don't." With that, Crowley smiles too. "Not at all."

"It's settled then, we'll take them in." Aziraphale inhales and exhales, walking back to you before Crowley can answer.

"As we were saying," Aziraphale says a little louder so that you'd hear, "we'd love to have you stay with us for a night or two. It's no trouble."

You take a step back, the tea still in your hands. "Er, Aziraphale, thank you, but I'd rather not trouble you," you say nervously.

See, you know you don't have a place to stay, and yet you still don't want to trouble them. It's not good that you feel that way, that you don't really want to accept help, because you need it. 

You're too humble and broken for your own good. 

Aziraphale immediately notices this. "C'mon, love. I assure you. We won't hurt you. I give you my word, and Crowley will give you his. It's no trouble. We have food and a spare room."

You sigh, a small smile on your face. "You're sure?"

"Of course," he says. "Er, Crowley?"

Crowley saunters in, hands in his pockets. "Yeah, I heard you guys chattin'. I give you my word that I won't hurt you."

"Thank you," you and Aziraphale say together. You mumble it, and Aziraphale says it gratefully.

Later that night, you're sitting on one of Aziraphale's leather chairs, your empty tea cup on the table beside you. You're reading the book you had picked up earlier.

There's a bookmark resting on your thigh, and it reads:

"Under His wings, you will find refuge."  
\- Psalm 9:1

You had read the bookmark earlier, and you had come to the conclusion that this Aziraphale was a believer. You didn't mind at all. In fact, it made you feel just a little safer with him.

The dim lighting of the lamp beside you is just enough to illuminate the book, and you can hear the rain on the bookshop windows. It's a much more peaceful night than the one you had expected. 

Crowley walks in after some time. "Ah, hey... (Y/N). Would you like to, ah, see your room? Azi put a suitcase in there that he could only assume would be yours."

"I'd love to, Crowley, thank you."

"You can bring your book. Azi says you can keep it."

"Oh, there's no need. I have a copy back at--" You freeze mid sentence, and your smile drops. "Ah... tell him I said thank you."

He nods. "Is there something wrong?" he asks, his voice softer than before.

"Mm, no," you lie. "I'm fine."

He starts to walk into another hallway, his boots making heavy thumps on the hardwood. "I can tell you're lying but I won't push you. Feel better then, eh?"

You stay where you are. 

"Your room's this way."

"Oh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading. Kudos and comments are much appreciated.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley reveal some things to each other while you're asleep.

Crowley leads you to your room, which, you discover upon entering, a quiet little room with the same dim lighting as the rest of the shop and a nice sized bed in the middle of it. A dresser stands next to the doorway. 

"Thank you," you say. "Tell Aziraphale thank you, too."

"I will," Crowley says. His voice, you notice, still has not lost its softness. It has stayed that way since he and Aziraphale had that little chat. "You obviously don't have to go to bed right now, but Azi and I won't be bothering you at all for the night. If you need anything, though, don't hesitate to ah, call us."

"You two have been nothing but kind to me so far, I can't thank you enough." And it's true. How Aziraphale could think to offer you a home the first night you don't have one is beyond you, but you won't question it. At least, not yet.

"You don't have to," Crowley says, and now there's a bit of a smile on his face. It's a pretty smile. "G'night, angel."

You smile at the nickname, blushing furiously as Crowley shuts the door behind him.

****

Aziraphale is waiting for Crowley in the main area of the bookshop. He was not there before with you and Crowley.

"How are they doing?" he asks. 

"They're too humble," Crowley laughs quietly, "and they're very happy here. I could tell."

Crowley stops his gentle chuckle after a second or two. "Azi, how long are you planning on letting them stay here?"

"As long as they need." Aziraphale's voice is barely a whisper. "Is that a problem?"

"No," says Crowley. "It's not."

"I can sense you're hopeful about that," Aziraphale says, a smile growing on his face. "And..." Aziraphale suddenly gasps. "You like them, don't you?"

Crowley freezes. "I--" he starts. "Er, nnnnno."

The angel only keeps his smile. "Crowley, you can't lie to me. It's alright. I do too."

Crowley's eyebrows raise. "What?"

"Mm hmm."

"Do -- do angels... believe in that? Polygamy, I mean."

"Er," says Aziraphale nervously. "I don't know. Nor do I care.

"If they have no home, then we'll give them one, together, for as long as they need. That is, if they want us to."

This is what we call a double entendre, pronounced (ahn-tahn-dra). What Aziraphale means here is both the literal (a literal home) and the metaphorical (a home made up of the people that care about others). Crowley is confused, because he only sees the literal. 

"Wait, aren't we already doing that?"

Aziraphale leans forward, his eyebrows raised. "Crowley," he says slowly, "we can take care of them together, can't we?"

"Yeah, of course, but I don't see how that is a --" Crowley stops, realization coming to him. "Oh."

Aziraphale nods, then leaves, going into the hallway leading to his own bedroom. "It's settled then."

"Wait, what?" Crowley asks, following after him. "Angel, wait." 

They stop in the hallway, which is not lit by any lights. Crowley's eyes are showing a little past the sunglasses he's wearing -- a orangish yellow out of black.

They're very close together now, Aziraphale turning around to listen to Crowley.

"We both know we have no problem... er, getting comfortable with this lovely person in our house. Separately. But... er." Crowley's voice lowers to whisper an expletive. "What I'm trying to say is, you said together. Like, together together."

"And?"

Crowley stops again. "You don't have any concerns with that?"

"Why, no. I don't." Aziraphale smiles. "Crowley, you don't think I've noticed all your little... ah, flirts? Your nicknames for me? Your saving my behind whenever I was in trouble?"

Crowley growls in frustration. "I tried not to make it too obvious."

"I appreciate it all," Aziraphale said, placing a hand on Crowley's sleeve. "I like you too, Crowley."


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have a nightmare during your first night at the bookshop.

You wake up screaming. 

It’s short but it’s painful. When you realize where you are and how loud you are, you flip yourself over and go into the fetal position. You bite your hand, hard, and shut your eyes tight.

“God…” you whisper against your knuckles.

What if they heard me?

****

They heard you.

Immediately upon hearing your frightened scream, they appear in front of your door. Neither of them make a move to open it.

“They’re not hurt,” Aziraphale whispers. “They seem completely fine.”

“Yeah, except for the absolute fear in them,” Crowley says darkly. “They’re scared… and now they’re ashamed. I can sense it.”

Aziraphale, upon hearing this, taps his knuckles on the door gently. “My dear, {Y/N}, are you alright?”

No answer.

He glances worriedly at Crowley. Then he opens the door just a bit.

“{Y/N}?” he asks, seeing a lump under the covers. He hears a sniffle. “Whatever is the matter?”

You shouldn’t be this trusting towards two men you just met, but you are, and you can’t tell anyone why because you yourself do not know. “Don’ worry ‘bout me,” you mumble.

“We were worried,” says Crowley. “You’re alright?”

It takes you two seconds to debate inwardly about your response. 

“No,” you admit. Two weights sink into the place on the bed where your feet would be. 

“Nightmare, huh?” Crowley asks. 

“How’d you know?” you ask, shuffling yourself up to see them sitting on the edge of the bed -- Aziraphale on your right, Crowley on your left. Crowley is a little closer to you than Aziraphale.

Normally you’d be very uncomfortable with this, but something tells you that these two would never hurt you.

“Well, you sounded very frightened, and there’s nothing here in the room with you besides us. And you don’t look like you’re in pain,” says Aziraphale. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“We won’t judge you,” says Crowley. “Only the Almighty can do that.”

Deep breath.

“I’m pansexual,” you say. 

They both nod understandingly. Aziraphale says, “Do you have any problems with that?”

You shake your head. “No. But my family does. Did.” What you said sinks in directly after you say it. You choke back a sob, suddenly getting very hot. “I sh-shouldn’t have said any-”

“Shh,” says Aziraphale, moving to sit beside you. He looks absolutely heartbroken. “It’s alright.”

“Don’t you get all upset on us,” says Crowley. "Maybe I'm just saying this for you, but as of now I don't care: when others are upset, I get upset."

You smile the tiniest bit at that.

Aziraphale mutters, "You're definitely saying that just for them."

Crowley growls at Aziraphale. "I'm trying to make them feel better, angel. And as you know, I'm not the best at that."

They both turn to you.

"What was this nightmare about?" asks Aziraphale.

"About yesterday morning," you say. "How I… came out to my parents. It wasn't--" you gasp, "-- wasn't pretty."

"Oh," says Aziraphale, "that's why you're here, is it?" 

Crowley's eyes flick to Aziraphale for a split second, then return to you.

You nod, unable to say anything more.

Moved by some newfound compassion, Aziraphale moves to lay next to you. Slowly, so as to not alarm you, he takes your hand in his.

And the floodgates open, and you're sobbing into Aziraphale's shoulder, gripping onto his shoulders.

"Suh-horry," you gasp, and he's holding you tightly now. 

"Don't be," says Aziraphale. "You've nothing to apologize for."

"We're gonna accept you for you," says Crowley, "even if your family doesn't. Me and Azi here -- we're… ah, can I say it?"

A nod from Aziraphale. You let go of him, still sniffling. 

"We're attracted to each other. I guess you could call us bisexual, but we don't really care."

Your lips go upwards in a tiny smile.

"So… you're in good company if anyone's giving you hell because of who you are." Crowley grins.

"Thank you," you whisper, "both of you."

"Do you want us to… to stay with you?"

You shrug. "If you want to."

Aziraphale immediately shuffles himself to lay down next to you. Crowley stands up and walks towards the end of the bed you're on. 

"Come on, love," he says. "Move over, please."

Thirty seconds later, you're sandwiched between them, still holding Aziraphale's hand.

Somehow, the contact between the three of you, with you holding Aziraphale's hand and your shoulder touching Crowley's, is helping you calm down and feel a bit better.

You fall asleep very quickly, and you sleep throughout the night, with no interruptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the reader is pansexual because its definition is "the sexual, romantic or emotional attraction towards people regardless of their sex or gender identity". 
> 
> I don't know if you are gay, straight, bisexual, pansexual, or any or none of these things. So I tried to make it as equal as I could.
> 
> I apologize if any of you are offended or have a problem with this. I'm trying my best.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley are... a bit more honest with you.

You wake up, and you are silent this time.

Thankfully, no nightmares had visited you since you fell asleep with Crowley and Aziraphale beside you.

"Morning, angel," comes the smooth voice of Crowley to your left. 

You say, "Morning," just as Aziraphale does. You both look at each other, and you're suppressing a chuckle. 

"Did I steal your nickname?" you ask. 

"I think Crowley let you borrow it for a while," says Aziraphale, and he doesn't sound bothered by it. "I don't mind. In fact, it's nice to see you respond to it, if I'm being completely honest."

You smile. "No one's called me anything like that."

"Well, then, you'd better get used to it," says Crowley with a small laugh.

"That whole thing last night," Aziraphale asks, "was that awkward for you at all? I mean, we've only just met you."

"No," you answer immediately, "oddly enough. No offense. But when I probably should've felt creeped out, I wasn't. I felt... safe."

Aziraphale only smiles at this.

"And that," says Crowley, putting an arm around you, "is exactly how we had intended it to be for you."

"Thank you," you say.

There's a pause, and it's only filled with the sounds of all of you breathing. 

"You haven't changed your clothes," you say. "You haven't changed since yesterday. And your hair looks the same. Yours especially, Crowley." You pause, seeing their panicked faces. "It was just something I noticed, 's all."

"Er," says Aziraphale. 

"Don't you know any guys who sleep in the clothes they wore the day before?" asks Crowley.

"I don't," you say. "Sorry if you're weirded out."

"Don't be sorry, you were just--" Aziraphale swallows, "-- just curious."

Then, he shakes his head. "I'm sorry, [Y/N]. We should've been more honest with you about ourselves."

You blink. "What?"

"Aziraphale," Crowley says coldly, "no. We can't--"

"We are... not human," Aziraphale says, not letting Crowley finish. "We're, er, supernatural entities. I'm an angel, and he is a demon."

You don't say anything. All you do is blink, trying to make sense of what he's just said.

"I'm sorry, love. Sorry that we didn't tell you sooner." Aziraphale gently squeezes your shoulder. "Are you mad at us?"

"I..." you start, "I don't know, really."

You look at the two men beside you - first Crowley, then Aziraphale. 

Crowley looks... well, he doesn't look like a demon. Not really. He just has red hair and black clothes. He's very pale, but that's probably just because he's not too fond on being outside. He seems sly.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, looks like an angel, aside from the wings. He's dressed in all white, and his hair is white too. He's a rosy peach color and a little rounder in the stomach, and he oozes comfort. 

"Hm," is all you say.

"Oh," says Crowley, "Somehow, I forgot about these." He takes off his shades, which, you notice, he hasn't taken off since you met him. "I guess we're being honest with you now."

His eyes are a deep yellow, like bumblebee yellow, and have a vertical black pupil in each.

You recoil, slightly. It's not enough for you to show them that you're scared -- because you're not; it's just something you didn't expect to see.

And, if you're being honest with yourself, they look super cool.

"Woah," you say. "Crowley, they're beautiful." And you mean it: they're beautiful in the weirdest way.

Crowley looks down bashfully, but you can see the hint of a smile on his face.

"So... an angel and a demon... are friends. Lovers," you say, forming the words angel and demon slowly. "Friends to lovers. Not something I'd think would happen."

Aziraphale shrugs. "I got the certification that Crowley was a little more to me than a friend in the late 1940s in Germany. A bomb had dropped on a church -- which, by the way, Crowley had come into to save me from being discorporated by Nazi spies -- and Crowley helped me, himself, and some books of prophecy of mine to stay safe." He smiles. "Not a scratch, on me or the books."

"Shut up," says Crowley, smiling. "It wasn't anything personal."

Aziraphale only looks at him. The kind of look that says I know what you're trying to do, you're trying to deny your feelings and yet you've already spoken about them so there really is no point. 

"And for me," Crowley says, "it was in the 1600s. We were watching a rehearsal for Shakespeare's Hamlet. Aziraphale was eating grapes beside me and Shakespeare was asking us to be more... included in the play. Interactive." Crowley shrugs. "The actors were not very good but I made it so that people would come and see it, therefore making it into a success." 

He shakes his head. "I'm getting off topic, aren't I? When Shakespeare asked us to be more interactive, Aziraphale tried his very best and I found that to be quite charming. Adorable. Whatever you want to call it."

Aziraphale blushes.

"But yeah," Crowley says. "Angel and demon."

"I do hope we haven't scared you off," Aziraphale says hopefully.

"No," you say happily, "you haven't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on vacation since Saturday so I've been stopping and continuing to write this randomly, so that'll explain why some things may be a little off topic or anything like that. 
> 
> I don't edit my works (except when it comes to grammar). I want them to be as genuine as possible. Everything I write, I come up with as I go along.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	6. Six (Or, A Short Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little side chapter, which details your journey with Crowley and Aziraphale in the Bentley to buy supplies for you.

That morning, each of your new flat-mates offers to take you to the stores across the street to get you some living supplies.

When you oblige, you all leave the bookshop (closed and locked this time) after you've managed to get yourself ready for the day (somewhat). Crowley lets you into the backseat of his Bentley and Aziraphale gets into the passenger's side. 

"Can you guys teleport?" you ask curiously. 

"Well, yes, technically we can," says Aziraphale, turning back to look at you, "but Crowley likes to drive. He's had this car for ninety years, and it's his prized possession. Also, he likes listening to..." He stops, turning back to Crowley. "Er, what was it again?"

"Queen," says Crowley curtly. "They haven't gotten old since they started in the seventies -- I could listen to them for eternity."

You smile. That answer wasn't one you had expected, and yet you think it's absolutely and positively Crowley. 

He turns the volume up. The song is on the bridge already, but you don't even care.

"Take a back seat, hitchhike... Take a long ride on my motorbike until I ready--" sings Freddie Mercury with all the soul in the world. 

"Ready, Freddie," Crowley says. 

"Crazy little thing called love," you finish quietly, waiting a beat before air drumming into the chorus. Crowley taps the wheel with his hands in time with the snare as well. 

Da dum dum dum dum

You can see Aziraphale smiling at Crowley, a huge blush on his cheeks.

"This thing, called love, I just can't handle it... This thing, called love, I must get round to it, I ain't ready!" 

"Ooh, ooh, ooh," you and Crowley sing background before he bursts into a fit of laughter, which is a merry "hah hah" that makes you smile as well.

You and Crowley ad-lib little lyrics here and there as the song fades out, and now even Aziraphale taps along to the beat. 

"You know, I've never seen you look so immersed in anything," he says to Crowley.

"Music can do that. Don't you agree, love?" Crowley asks the second question a little louder so you could hear it and answer. 

"Yes, absolutely," you say happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" is my dad's favorite Queen song, and I was disappointed when I didn't hear it in Good Omens, so I put it here. 
> 
> I do not own the lyrics. 
> 
> (Also, does anybody know how to add italics to copied text in the text box?)

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and comments! They mean a lot to me as a writer. Constructive criticism is much appreciated.


End file.
